


heaving through corrupted lungs

by handcuffedhale (fizzingweaselbee)



Series: If You Leave [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Depression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, post 3b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 21:28:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1757477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fizzingweaselbee/pseuds/handcuffedhale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He’s known ever since he got his mind back, though, that it isn’t the same, that the Nogitsune left darkness in spots all over it, and he can feel them growing.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	heaving through corrupted lungs

**Author's Note:**

> There are descriptions of a panic attack, and also mentions of suicidal idealation/suicidal thoughts, along with depression.
> 
> I have never been in a psychiatric ward, so although not much is mentioned, I've mostly taken ideas from the media, so it might not be accurate.
> 
> *
> 
> Title is from Youth - Daughter, which is also an excellent song to listen to when reading this fic.
> 
> Thank you, as always, to my awesome beta [AJ](http://bitchjerk.co.vu)

The psychiatrist – a different one to when Stiles had come in seven years ago; she had been old and friendly and sweet, whereas he is middle aged and stern and methodical – looks up from his chart, his mouth a firm line, and Stiles knows it’s going to be bad news.

He’s known ever since he got his mind back, though, that it isn’t the same, that the Nogitsune left darkness in spots all over it, and he can feel them growing.

“From the discussion we’ve had, and reports from you, in addition to medical records and, of course, his past anxiety disorder, my conclusion is that Stiles has severe depression, in addition to a relapse into his panic attacks.” The psychiatrist looks at the Sheriff instead of Stiles. “For the time being, I believe he would be best suited for re-admission into Eichen House.” The Sheriff opens his mouth to protest, but the doctor talks over him. “At least temporarily, while we discuss other options.”

There is silence, and Stiles looks down at where his dad’s hands are gripping the arms of his chair. “Isn’t that a little extreme? Surely if you prescribe him some medication, and he returns to therapy maybe three times a week, won’t that be enough?” Stiles risks a look at John’s face and immediately regrets it, because there is resignation in his eyes and also pain. Stiles wants to get rid of what he put there but he can’t.

“I understand that you’ve both been through a lot, these past few months and prior to that, but this is the best option for Stiles’ safety. Your son informed me that he’s been having hallucinations, that he can’t sleep, that he feels a gnawing guilt he can’t get rid of, and that he frequently has suicidal thoughts and has planned the act, I quote, more times than he can count.” The psychiatrist’s face slips into something slightly more sympathetic as he lists all of Stiles’ symptoms, and the Sheriff takes a shuddery breath. Stiles sees him lift a hand to wipe over his eyes, and shame burns in his gut because he keeps hurting the ones he loves, even with the monster in him gone.

When John next speaks, his voice is quiet; broken. “What do I have to do?”

**

It’s silent in the cruiser as they drive to the ward the next day. John had removed the partition, but there’s no sound coming from Scott and Stiles in the back, all three men stuck in their own minds.

The air seems to get thicker as they approach the gates, and no one makes to move as the purr of the engine is cut off, silence ringing in Stiles’ ears.

The sheriff is the first to move, taking a deep breath before he opened his door, walking around to the trunk where Stiles’ stuff sat – a meagre duffel bag full of clothing and not much else, seeing as it had been decided that bringing the supernatural library he kept at home would seem suspicious.

As light as the burden is, John refuses to let Stiles or Scott take it from him, and Stiles wonders if it’s his dad’s last act of parenting before he’s admitted. 

Scott’s face grows more and more pained as they approach the building, and Stiles motions for his father to go ahead as he puts a hand on Scott’s arm.

“You okay?” he asks, taking his hand away quickly, shaking it to get rid of the feeling of holding a sword.

Scott nods. “There are some people who aren’t doing very well,” he says quietly. “I can’t feel them like Lydia can, but I can hear them.”

“You don’t have to come in, Scott, you can wait in the car.” Stiles watches the conflicting emotions cross Scott’s face, and is unprepared when Scott pulls him in for a hug. Stiles shivers at the sudden change in body temperature – he’s not been able to get warm after he’d got his body back, but Scott’s temperature runs a lot hotter than normal. He does raise his arms wordlessly to wrap them tightly around Scott, feeling wetness soak the shoulder of his shirt where Scott’s face is buried. 

Scott’s voice is muffled when he speaks. “None of it was your fault. I know you won’t believe me, but I have to say that. And for the record, I forgive you. It wasn’t your fault, but you think it was, so I forgive you.” Stiles’ entire body had stiffened with the memory of plunging the sword into Scott’s stomach, and Scott pulls away, wiping at his cheeks and smiling weakly. “I’ll visit when I can get Derek to teach me how to clamp down on the hearing. I love you, bro.”

“Love you too,” Stiles replies, and this hug is faster, but just as tight.

Stiles watches Scott walk back to the cruiser before slowly making his way to the entrance where his dad is waiting.

“Okay?” he asks, and Stiles shrugs, unable to lie but unwilling to upset his father further.

When they say goodbye, with a nurse hovering just outside the door, his father wordlessly hands him his duffel bag, along with another bag. Stiles’ eyes begin to water when he opens it to see his two pillows stuffed into it, and he drops the bags to hug his dad, tall enough now that he has to bend his knees a little, but his dad’s arms are tight around him and for the first time in a while, Stiles feels tears leaking out of his eyes.

“You know my work schedule, call me if you need anything,” his dad says sternly, eyes bright.

Stiles nods. “I know, dad. I’ll be fine.” His dad nods, fingers opening and closing by his sides as he watches Stiles pick up his bags. “I love you. Don’t eat too much red meat,” Stiles calls over his shoulder, and he catches the slight upturn of his dad’s lips and his ‘I love you too’ before the door clicks and locks shut behind him.

**

Stiles sneaks outside on the third night, treading lightly because despite his open eyes, his roommate is asleep, curled up against the wall boring a hole in the window.

The nurses never move him, and Stiles wonders why catatonia is seen as a healthy state.

He manages to get out the back door into the gardens without setting off any alarms, and the two nurses he sees don’t notice him, probably due to the mantra of ‘they can’t see me’ Stiles mutters under his breath.

The gardens aren’t huge, and Stiles has only been out in them once so far, when Ms Morell decided to move the group therapy outside.

That led to one of the – Stiles struggles not to call them inmates – patients making a break for it, and Stiles eyes the wall she had tried to climb, deciding he could get out if he really wanted to.

Instead, he flops to the ground just out of sight of the nurses’ office, using his arms to pillow his head as he stares at the moon. It’s almost a perfect crescent, and Stiles runs through all the lore he found on how the phases of the moon affect werewolves - Derek had told him it was all bullshit, but he’d also said that about the vampire they had to deal with in the summer.

Stiles pinches his bicep to draw his mind away from thoughts of the time between sophomore and junior year, instead refocusing on the sky. He swears he can hear a wolf howling in the distance and, hallucination or not, it comforts him enough that he stands, brushing off his pyjamas and returning inside, taking one last breath of the night air before the door clicks shut behind him.

**

“Are you going to come to the rec room?” the nurse asks as Stiles’ roommate shuffles past her, another nurse’s arm just behind his back, herding him out and along the corridor.

Stiles shakes his head. “I haven’t got anyone coming, I’d rather stay here,” he replies, knowing that it’ll be written down as ‘wilful self-isolation’ and other psychobabble, when in reality his dad is working a double, and he’d elected not to tell Scott in their ten minute phone call.

“We’ll send someone to check on you in an hour,” the nurse promised with a smile that reminded him of Melissa, and he felt the first pangs of homesickness since watching his dad drive away from his window.

His smile is half-hearted in return, and it drops as soon as the nurse shuts the door. He drops to sit on his bed, staring at the stack of books deemed ‘safe’ before lying back on his bed, shutting his eyes in the hopes of sleep.

**

Derek sits in the parking lot, hands tight on the steering wheel as he listens to the sounds of Eichen House.

Derek had been watching over the Sheriff a little more recently, had been ever since the attempted sacrifices, but more frequently in the past week because he hadn’t seen Stiles since everything went down, and he’d been worried. He’d passed it off as pack worrying to Scott when the alpha had questioned it, but Derek knew it had more to do with the summer they’d spent together out of loneliness, which had turned into more after the vampire incident, and had been cut off as soon as school started for Stiles.

_“There’s no way I can get off? It’s the first time I can visit; I haven’t seen him in 4 days.” John sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Eichen House.” Derek was too far away to hear anything but a buzz from the other person on the phone, but he saw the Sheriff slump. “Yes, of course, I understand. Good talking to you too, sir.” He slammed the phone down, leaning against his desk and swearing before smiling wearily at the woman who opened the door and passed him a coffee._

Derek wills himself out of the Camaro, gritting his teeth at the faint noise and forcing himself to focus on the crunch of gravel under his shoes.

“I’m here to visit Stiles,” he says to a smiling nurse, noting that it hasn’t changed in seven years, since he’d spent one hellish night in here before Laura pulled him out and they ran to New York.

The nurse clears her throat to interrupt his thoughts, and he turns back to her with a forced smile. “He didn’t think he’d have any visitors. He’s in his room; I think he could use visitors.” Derek frowns, but gestures for her to lead the way.

As soon as they’re out of the reception, Derek can hear the sound of muffled sobs, and they grow louder until the nurse stops outside of the room they’re emanating from. Derek takes a deep breath, claws digging into his palm before he knocks.

There’s a beat, and then the sound of rustling. “I’m fine.” To anyone else, his voice might sound groggy with sleep, but Derek can hear the cracks in his voice, the thickness in his throat, and after an encouraging nod from the nurse, he pushes the door open.

Derek knows from experience how real the expression ‘heart break’ can feel, and something cracks in his chest at the sight of Stiles curled into himself, dark circles just as bad as when he was possessed.

“Stiles,” the word falls out of his mouth and Stiles hunches further in on himself. Derek lets the door click shut behind him, and he’s across the small room in two strides, hand resting on Stiles’ shoulder. “Stiles,” Derek murmurs, and Stiles breaks, a sob ripping through him.

Derek knows he probably shouldn’t, but the only way he knows to comfort is touch, so he fits himself in the small gap by Stiles’ side, letting Stiles bury his face in Derek’s neck and fall apart, Derek’s arms tight around him the only thing holding him together.

Eventually, though, the sobs quiet until Stiles’ breathing evens out, and he wipes at his eyes, elbows jostling Derek’s hold. Derek pulls his arms away as Stiles sits up, glancing at Derek before moving to sit on the other bed, knees tucked under his chin as he watches Derek sit up, the shoulder of his shirt damp from Stiles’ tears.

They stare at each other in silence, and Derek can see Stiles turning things over in his mind; he can see the exact moment when Stiles switches from confusion to anger, and braces himself for it.

“Why are you here, Derek?” Stiles’ voice is measured, and Derek can smell the guilt rolling off of him in waves. “You don’t have to be here, I don’t want you here.”

Derek’s mouth opens, and the only words he can think to say are, “I didn’t know you were here.”

Stiles’ laugh is empty, and Derek flinches because everything Stiles is reminds him of the Nogitsune, and how worried he’d been. “I didn’t want you to know.”

The silence stretches between them, and Stiles watches the hurt flit across Derek’s face, squashing down the part of him that wants to take it away, that always wants to take it away. He’d spent the summer falling for Derek, and he couldn’t shake the betrayal that as soon as the pack was back together everything slipped back to how it was before, but with less venom and a little more amicability. Whenever they’d been in the same room, Stiles had been unable not to sneak glances at Derek, and he’d felt Derek do the same, the gazes burning whenever they met.

“You don’t get to come here acting concerned, you don’t have that right. You’re the one who said that it had to stop; you don’t get to come back here and expect this all to be better because I need you. I have too much shit going on to deal with this, okay? I have too much weight on me already, don’t offload more just because you’ve finally decided that I’m worthy of your attention!” Stiles takes a deep breath, the knot around his heart tightening. “That summer was the best it could’ve been, okay? Scott was off pining over Allison and my dad was working and you were actually nice, and we hung out, and after the vampire thing you kissed me. You kissed me, and I was freaking out but I was happy, okay? And then you ruined it. So leave me alone, okay? Let me deal with alone, because I can’t deal with you leaving again.” The tears are back, and Stiles can’t breathe properly, his breaths coming in hitched gasps, and then Derek is kneeling on the bed, his large hands cupping Stiles’ face.

His thumbs stroke over Stiles’ cheeks, catching the tears before they can fully fall. “I’m sorry, Stiles, I’m sorry. I need you to breathe, okay? You’ve been coping with this since you were ten, you told me yourself. I know you can breathe.” Stiles can feel Derek’s pulse in the thumb pressed against the corner of his lip, and his eyes slip shut as he focuses on inhaling and exhaling, the motion getting easier the longer he counts in his head. When he opens his eyes, he brings up his hands, and Derek moves back like he thinks Stiles is going to push him, hands dropping to his sides. Instead Stiles wordlessly counts his fingers, relaxing a little when he finishes.

“I hate this,” he murmurs. “I hate that I can’t handle this like everyone else can.”

Derek is still knelt opposite him watching Stiles like he’ll break any moment. “None of us are coping well, but you went through the most. To have everything taken from you, even your decisions, I know how that feels. I was in here for less.”

Stiles’ head jerks up, eyes wide in surprise. “You were in here?”

“Yeah, for one night. I couldn’t deal with it, but it was mandated. Laura busted me out, and we ran away to New York.” Derek leans into the hand Stiles puts on his neck, eyes blue when he reopens them. “I can’t fix you. I can’t do that. But if you want me to be, I can be here while you fix yourself.”

Stiles knows they have more to talk about, that there’s a mountain of issues they need to address, but he’s tired of arguing. “Okay,” he says softly, watching as Derek relaxes. “I’d like you to – could you kiss me, please?” Derek swallows, nodding as he shifts, slowly leaning forward, cupping Stiles’ cheek with one hand as his eyes drop to Stiles’ lips. Their eyes stay open when Derek brushes his mouth against Stiles’, soft and warm and gentle and too brief. Stiles pulls on Derek’s arm until he is leant on the wall next to Stiles, and Stiles leans into his torso, sighing as his eyes slip shut, and he sleeps for the first time in weeks. 

He wakes up screaming, but Derek is still there, hands warm and solid as he holds them up for Stiles to count his fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> This was for the prompt: "after all the stuff happened in the end of 3b Stiles is diagnosed with depression and he is sent to a mental illness hospital (sorry I'm not native speaker so I don't know the name for that but you get the idea). Derek only hears about this few days later and he goes to see if S is ok. He didn't think of going inside until he hears S crying. He somehow gets in to comfort S and they both might have some feelings for one another that they haven't talked about and yeah"


End file.
